Here and There
by Thriving Willow
Summary: A series of TSCC one-shots. These are more addictive than is good for my health.
1. Rain

Author Notes: I had an enormous amount of fun writing this. This is the first time I've actually written anything for TSCC and, quite frankly, I love it. This one, of course, is fluff. But the next one will be more serious.

Characters: John, Cameron

Rating: K

"John."

He looked up at her, weary, feeling his eyes burn due to lack of sleep. "Hmm,"

"Are you sad?" Cameron arched her neck to the side, her big eyes gaining that curious glint that he half hated, half adored.

"No, Cam, I'm fine," He lied. He wasn't sad, per say. But he was tired. So he wasn't quite 'fine' by Cameron's reasoning. Still, he didn't feel like dealing with her right then. He turned away to shuffle pointlessly at his half-done homework papers.

"I don't think you are, John. Something is wrong. Will you explain?"

John realized she wouldn't leave until he told her; grudgingly, feeling like he'd lost some sort of contest, he turned to the still figure. "I'm just tired. I need sleep,"

"I understand now. Thank you," She twisted on her heel and left the room.

John closed his eyes and thankfully fell into a light sleep.

Later, when the house was dark and John slept--she had checked on him--Cameron sat before the TV, eyes locked intently on the screen. There was lots of singing in the film. And dancing. She didn't understand, but somehow the two went together. Maybe John would know. The act of dance and voice seemed a strange mixture. No one ever said singing was the language of the soul, only dancing. Perhaps singing was dancing's partner.

And rain, too. Lots of rain. Cameron scooted closer to the TV, eyes wider than usual. Dancing in the rain, while singing, made people happy. Happy. Could such actions really stimulate happiness in one person? If so, why did not John and Sarah do it? They were always sad, broken almost. It should rain every day, Cameron decided, and people should dance in it.

"You should sing in the rain, John Connor,"

The next morning, kindling to her curiosity, it rained. Cameron had finished the dance movie only to switch to the weather channel, flipping through each one, paying avid attention. They predicted a twenty percent chance of rain. She had frowned upon reading it. Twenty percent was not enough.

But the weather man with the white beard had been wrong. It was a light trickling at first, nothing like in the happy, laughing move. Cameron still walked quickly up the stairs and into John's room. He was tangled in his blankets, snoring lightly. As much as Cameron wanted to pull him out into the rain and make him happy, she knew John needed his rest. Without rest, nothing functioned in the human system.

She waited, hands folded neatly in her lap. Twenty three minutes and fort-one seconds later, John stirred. The rain was only stronger now, making a thudding sort of sound on the room. Cameron wondered, in the time awaiting for John, if that was the music that had been playing during the movie. It was pretty, thought Cameron.

John's eyelids fluttered and he jumped when they focused on her. "Jee--Cameron. Don't. What--what are you doing here?" He groaned, rolling over into his pillow.

"John," She stated, feeling something--something unexplainable. Not in her programing. John suddenly rolled back over and stared at her, his head tilted to the side, "I have something to show you," And her lips twitched upward. "I'm going to make you happy now,"

Downstairs, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, John stared disbelieving at Cameron. If he didn't know better, Cameron almost seemed excited. There was a spark in her eyes and she was pulling him towards the backyard. If he wasn't half asleep, he'd probably insist that Cameron stopped. Unfortunately, he could barely keep his eyes peeled open; the only thing he could do was stumble down the stairs after her.

"What are we doing, Cam? This is crazy. It's Saturday morning and eight o'clock. Which is crazy," He scratched his head, staring at Cameron. She'd stopped near the back doors, her hands clasped together. He didn't have enough time to wonder about her hands because she began talking.

"You have something you must do now. It's very important. Are you listening?"

John was suddenly more awake, automatically looking for a gun just in case. Guns were always needed in important things. He'd left his gun under his pillow though, where it always was. However, anther one was hidden in the table, the one with the vase on top.

"Are you listening?" She repeated.

"Yes," John was wide awake. "Where's mom?"

"Sarah does not matter at the moment, although it's strongly suggested she try this soon. After you, though," She grabbed John's hand and yanked him out the back door.

John blinked, gasping. It was pouring rain, soaking him instantly. "What are we doing?" They were in the back yard, standing in a muddy puddle.

"We are dancing, John," And Cameron began dancing. She sashayed and jumped in the rain. John realized she was doing ballet in a rain storm.

He stood still, staring at her for a long moment. "You're crazy."

Cameron stopped, looking at him. "You are not dancing. Should we sing now?" She let out a long row of disjointed notes. It probably should've sounded terrible but she hit each note perfectly that it hardly mattered.

"No, no, no. Cameron stop--what are you doing?" He grinned, despite the strangeness of everything going on. This all probably should come to a shock to John, but it was Cameron. Her innocent-curiosity was never a shock anymore.

"The movie implied that singing and dancing—especially in the rain—makes people happy. It works effectively. You are smiling, John."

John laughed once, shaking some rain out of his hair. "Yeah, I guess it does. Were you watching movies again last night? Singing in the rain, maybe?"

"Maybe," Cameron answered. "Will you sing and dance now? It's your turn,"

John rolled his eyes. "If I do, can I go in?"

"Will you be happy?"

"Sure. I'll be happy," He complied, just hoping Derek and his mom weren't looking. They'd never let him live it down if they caught him dancing in the rain like an idiot.

"The man in the TV did a lot of twisting. Like this," She spread her arms out, twisting in quick circles.

John mimicked her. "Did he open his mouth and catch the rain with his tongue?"

Cameron paused. John stopped, a little dizzy. "Yes, he did. Have you seen the movie before?"

"Yeah. Once or twice. Can I go in now?"

"Are you happy now, John?"

John grinned, "I'm happy now, Cam."

"Good."

They walked inside, dripping, one smiling while the other's lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. While John turned to the hall closet to get a towel, Cameron turned towards the kitchen.

"Where you going?" He called after her, grabbing two towels.

"To find Sarah Connor. She needs to dance in the rain—it will make her happy, will it not?"

John only made a face, like he was holding back laughter, and rushed towards the kitchen. _No way in hell am I going to miss this. _


	2. Barney

**Author's Note: I know I said that the next one would be more dramatic but somehow I couldn't pull it off. I'm in a semi-fluffy mood. Sorry. **

**Characters: Cameron, Sarah, little John**

**Rating: k **

The purple man liked to be happy. He was always happy. Always helping the kids be happy. Carmon stared at the screen, enraptured. He was so strange; no one else ever looked so bright and colorful. And he talked about imagination.

She should ask John. Except he was out with Derek, an ammo run.

Sarah walked down the stairs and Carmon looked up at her. "Sarah,"

"Tin Miss," She greeted blandly, headed towards the kitchen.

"What is 'imagination'?" She followed after Sarah.

Sarah shrugged, "You read the dictionary. Shouldn't that already be in there?"

"I know the definition—'the ability to form images and ideas in the mind, especially of things never seen or experienced directly' or 'the part of the mind where ideas, thoughts, and images or formed', or 'the ability to think of ways of dealing with difficulties or problems'—but I don't understand,"

Sarah dropped the electric bill and stared up at Cameron. Annoyance flickered in her eyes. "You don't have imagination." She said bluntly.

Carmon stared at the counter for a second before repeating, "I do not have 'imagination'?"

"Correct," Sarah muttered, "You're metal. What use would imagination be to you?"

She cocked her head to the side, "We could 'imagine' what a target would do based upon past actions. Could we not? To 'pretend' I was that person?"

Sarah's face blanched in disgust. She turned and left the room without another word.

Carmon still didn't quite understand. How was she supposed to 'imagine'? Could she 'imagine' John was there, instead of gone? It didn't seem logical.

"Thank you for explaining," She called after Sarah, even though she was still quite confused.

When John walked in the door later, Cameron stopped right in front of him. "The man named Barney is confusing," She stated before going upstairs to try the strange thing called 'imagining' again.


	3. I found a reason

**Author's Note: I have a second part to this drabble planned out. I'll put it up as soon as I get it written. I absolutely adored writing this. I listened to this song. .com/watch?v=UmMpkOZtdb8&feature=PlayList&p=E3A652B083AD074E&index=3&playnext=4&playnext_from=PL**

**Characters: future John, future Cameron**

**Rating: k**

He waits in the dark, sitting, crouched behind the rubble, gun in hand. From the ceiling, he feels water drip on his head; he ignores it.

Someone shifts in the dark tunnel, whispers reaching back to him.

"_One's coming," _The whisper says. "_Be ready," _

John tightens the grip on his plasma rifle and blinks rapidly. He's going to take out another one. So many, five already. _I'm ready. _

The stiff figure steps into a small pool of water. The light is thrown behind the figure; John can see this one has long hair, probably in female form. There's the short sound of the electric charges going off before John lurches forward, running towards the falling figure.

Derek is just as step in front of him. "Got it!" He yells, kicking the twitching figure over. With a loud crackle, he has the gun pressed to the metal skull.

John lets out a cry, "Don't! Gun down, solder!"

Derek blinks, shocked.

John shoves him aside and kneels down beside the all too familiar figure. He quickly brushes away her long hair and gouges out the chip, panting heavy. He rolls the chip in his dirty hand, feeling the cool exterior. Quickly, before anyone can stop him, he tucks the chip away in his pocket.

"Sir," Derek gasps, "What are you doing?"

But, without answering, he hauls the machine over his shoulder and slowly drags Cameron's lifeless body down the hall.

He closes the door behind him despite his distraught solders. Struggling, he rolls her body on his bed and lets out a heavy breath, sweat dribbling down his face. He'd forgotten how heavy Cameron was.

Just to make sure, he brushed away her hair, holding her face between his hands.

He remembers a lot. He remembers his sixteenth birthday and how she'd asked him about birthdays. He remembers all the time she'd come running when he needed her, no questions asked. He remembered the time she'd sat on the bed with him, talking late into the night. All those long nights…

He remembers the way her lips would twitch in emotion, when she was happy or sad or confused. He remembers when she was sad. Once, a long time ago.

And he can't help himself. He breaks down, grasping her face tightly, and weeps with joy. He sobs silently into her jacket, moaning her name once. Three years without her, wondering when she was going to come for him, when Allison was going to disappear. It's been more like walking on nails for forever. It has been pure torture.

He kisses her lip gently, feeling the skin under his own lips. "You've come back," he whispers. "You've come back and I won't let you go,"

That's all that matters now. That's all.


	4. Protection

Author's Note: I wanted to explore the relations between Derek and Sarah a little. These are short but I thought they were effective. I'm not quite happy with it but I thin you guys will survive.

Characters: Sarah--Derek, John, Cameron

* * *

Call it paranoia, schizophrenic, whatever. He remembered, when he was a child, watching his mother sleep in the Central America forests, she would slide a gun under her pillow when she didn't think he was watching. He would always quickly close his eyes and turn away, before she noticed that he noticed.

When he was eleven, when his mom gave him his first gun—his gun, not hers, not anyone's but his—he had stared at it for a long moment.

That night, when he thought his mother wasn't looking, John slid the gun under his pillow. His mom, however, had seen. She slept with tears that night because, for the rest of his life, she knew he'd be sleeping with a gun under his head.

She was right.

He slept with a piece of cold, hard piece of death every night. No good mother did such a thing to her child. There was no excuse good enough for that. And yet—yet she did it. She condemned her child with the weight of the world that day.

* * *

He stared at the rows. The cans stretched on and on and on, never ending, never breaking. It was so beautiful it was almost hard to breathe. They were so shiny and glinted in the glow of the store lights.

Slowly, Derek ran his fingers over the smooth rows, feeling the ripples under his hands. He let out a heavy sigh.

"You look like you just made it to heaven," John noted, pausing with the cart next to him.

Derek shook his head. "If ever there was going to be a heaven, I would want it right here, with Kyle and having unlimited food." He looked down at John and had a sudden pang in his gut. The boy with the green eyes didn't deserve to be hungry, yet Derek knew, soon, in the future, he'd go nights and mornings with having nothing to eat. He would sit with a fierce knot inside of him, like his stomach was attempting to eat him from the inside out.

"You ready to go?" John asked, unaware that his uncle was fighting back the urge to pile can after can into the cart and run.

Derek cleared his throat. "Yeah. Sure. Let's go,"

When John wasn't around, when he felt a bit useless and scared, Derek found the metal sitting in the back yard, a flower twirling in her finger. He marched up to her and Cameron noticed the anger on his face immediately. It was a common emotion for Derek, after all.

He knelt down next to her and pointed a finger inches close to her face. "You don't let him go hungry, you hear? You sure as hell do not let him starve. Do you understand? _Never!"_ He hissed fiercely. Then he turned and disappeared into the house without a look back.


	5. You're Back

It took forever, I know. To be honest, I forgot about this drabble. That's a bad thing, isn't it? Well, I finished it. This is the second part to the other Future-John-Capturing-Cameron one.

Characters: John, Cameron

Category: Jameron

* * *

He's stressed and everyone can see it. He doesn't know how to precede from where here. He has Cameron—has her life in his palm—but doesn't know how to bring her to him. He binds TOK715 carefully and feels evil for even putting the chains on her skin. He feels sick and cruel.

Still, he does it. He's not stupid.

Then he slides behind her dangling, limp figure and injects the TOK715 chip. Not Cameron. Or not yet. John steps back, staring at the back of her head. He can almost hear her waking up—her head twitches to the side and her hand jerks.

"It's okay," John manages to whisper. She tries to twist around but the chains stop her; so he walks out in front of her. He wants her to see him. He wants to see her.

"You are John Connor," She bluntly says the obvious.

He grips his hands tightly behind his back—they are shaking—and nodes. "Yes. And you are Cameron."

She stares blankly at him. "I am not familiar with the name. It is unnecessary for me to obtain a name. I need none."

He stares at TOK715 for a very long moment. She returns the gaze, unblinking. Finally, biting his lip, he nodes. "Yeah, I know that. I've known that a long time. It won't matter soon enough."

"You are in my data base, on a list of people that need to be terminated."

"I know. You're here—designed—to terminate me. I've been waiting."

"To deactivate me?"

He draws in a shaky breath. Already she's different, already asking questions. She's pushing the limits of what a machine is, only alive for so little time. "To bring my Cameron back," He states before walking quickly out the door, leaving the machine that was to bloom into the person he loves.

He leaves her to find Weaver, to retain Cameron's old chip. He doesn't quite know where to look—Weaver is never in the same place—so he returns to his room and, just as he's been hoping, she's standing in the middle of the room, stony and silent.

"I need her chip," He blurts as soon as he enters the room, closing the door carefully behind him. What trouble would he be in if his men found out who he was keeping company with these days? They would be livid, of course. His palms began to sweat; he wanted to get back to Cameron.

Weaver simply holds her hand out. He nearly lunges for it but freezes when she pulls it out of his reach. "It's not going to be that easy, Connor. Things need to be done. You need to be careful. We've repaired the chip back to its previous state—not broken. But still, your men will be suspicious. Be careful with them,"

John snatches it carefully from Weaver's grasp, nodding. "Of course," He breathes, staring at the chip. It wasn't perfectly shiny and new, not like the one in the machine back there, but it looked better. Not fractured. Now Carmon would be okay. He cradles it like a baby. Like glass. Like it's everything precious in his world.

He runs so quickly back to his room, dodging his men, and taking all the short cuts.

John bursts into the room, half afraid that somehow she's escaped. Perhaps the chains were too weak and she goes on a rampage. So many things—but, no. He enters the room and TOK715 is twisting around slowly, her eyes trailing across the walls. They're mostly bare.

"Hello, John Connor." She greets.

He stands silently for a moment before answering. "Hello."

"You are not going to let me free?"

"No,"

"I predicted as much. You will destroy me, then?"

John's hands tightened on Cameron's old chip. "No. I'm going to bring you back,"

"I don't understand. I am here now." She turned the best she could to stare at him. John saw no malice, no hunger for killing. Cameron had spoken the truth, all those years ago. They weren't cruel. Or she wasn't, at least.

"I'll explain everything. In a moment." John rounded the back of TOK715.

She began babbling. "This name you've given me. I like it. Maybe I can change, John Connor. Perhaps, instead, I can protect you now. Don't send me away," Her voice changed. John could almost hear the second it changed from blank, uncaring, to TOK715 the infiltrator.

He shakes his head, flipping out his knife. "It's okay then. You're not going away. I'm waking you up now. It'll only take a second." He promises. He digs the tip of the knife into her scalp.

TOK715 twitches, swinging her body slightly. John grasps her chains, steadying her. "Don't worry." He soothes. "Don't worry anymore." And he flicks out the chip of TOK715. In the same movement, he slides Cameron—the real one, the one he worries and dreams about—into the same little space that consisted of John's world.

TOK715's struggle dies quickly. John, barely breathing, slowly slides his knife into his pocket. He feels like his chest is about to burst, like the universe is about to fold in on itself any second. He walks around to face Cameron's face—he wants him to be the first thing she sees—and never lets his fingers leave her skin. It trails along her side and up her arm, to rest on her cheek.

Her blank eyes suddenly flicker, blink once, then twice. The perfect lips move slowly, to form a warming smile.

"You're back," He sighs, tears dribbling slowly down his cheek.

"I'm back." Cameron replies.


	6. Promise

**Listen to this song while you read. It just does things. .com/watch?v=SOm83SlDaME just add youtube in front of the .com**

Cameron witnessed as John Connor, future leader of mankind, humanities' last hope, cried himself to sleep on his mother's lap. She watched as all walls of hate and mistrust broke down and he turned into his mother's shoulder. The sobs were loud, so loud that Derek peeked into the room once. Cameron watched as he stared for a long second before disappearing outside.

And, for the first time since she could ever recall, Cameron experienced the ghost of frustration and helpless. She was not acquired with such a sensation—she was strong, able. She could eliminate all threats that came her way. And yet, as she sat, there was a threat that was unseen, untouchable.

How did one terminate the emotion of sorrow?

Without asking John, Cameron knew what his answer would be. You don't. John would say you could not escape the hand of sorrow. All you can do is bare it. You take the blow, deal, and continue.

She looked over at John and saw the tears; saw the red eyes; saw the agony etched in his face. She looked at Sarah and saw an equally similar thing. Cameron did not understand. Something told her asking John at the moment would be inconvenient for him. She knew he would be angry.

There was a second where Cameron made a sort of connection with herself. Why not figure out the question herself? Need she always ask John? She sat very still, placing her hands flat down on her lap.

How to even start such a thing? Cameron decided she would give herself the emotions and 'pretend' as Sarah had told her she couldn't do the other day. She would 'imagine' what feelings John must be having.

Pain was obvious. Human emotions were very precise, Cameron knew. She 'pretended' to be human and gave herself a high dose of pain. She twitched. Not the right kind of pain. That was physical. She wanted emotional.

What did emotional pain feel like? How did one 'imagine' if they had no idea what that felt like? Maybe it felt like physical pain—something she was relatively familiar with—only on the inside. Perhaps it wasn't something she couldn't just fix, something that didn't heal over.

She glanced over at Sarah to find her face contorted in what Cameron could only guess was guilt. Did guilt and pain go together? Was pain not just one emotion, but various emotions that made one ache in the heart? Was it guilt and loss and sadness all put together?

What did guilt feel like? Again, Cameron was at a loss as to what to 'imagine'.

She wanted to ask John, to make her understand. She wanted to feel these emotions with him and to 'sympathize'.

And then, there, right inside of her, was something. She had no idea what it was or why it was there, but it didn't feel good. It made her…she shifted slightly on the couch, trying to get rid of the sensation. She wanted to help John but couldn't and that made her feel—feel like she'd failed to complete something. It was like being unsuccessful in a mission.

While Cameron struggled with the unfamiliar sensation, Sarah stood carefully, placing John's now asleep form on the couch. With a stony face, she walked up the stairs and flicked off the light.

Cameron stared down at John. "I'm sorry," She told his sleeping form. "I did not 'sympathize' or 'imagine'. I failed. But I will help."

Carefully, she slid John under her arms and gently cradled him to her chest. He stirred once, his eyelids fluttering, but they quickly closed. She walked up the stairs quietly and nudged his door open. Taking care, Cameron settled him into his bed and pulled a blanket over him.

"I will take care of you, John Connor,"

She stood to leave the room but his hand suddenly shot out, wrapping tightly around her wrist. "Stay," he mumbled.

The one word rooted her feet to the floor.

"I will stay, John," She sat on the bed, wrapping her hands around his.

"Promise?" His eyes rolled behind the closed lids, opening every so little.

"I promise,"


	7. It's over, and she went with it

A short drabble that I thought would be a little interesting to explore.

* * *

He went to sleep with Cameron standing silently in the other room. He'd said goodnight moments before and now he was drifting away into dreams full of death and Cameron. Sarah was out. ("I'm running on an errand with Derek. Be back by morning,")

He rubbed his eyes when he woke up. The house was still silent and it didn't smell like pancakes—Sarah wasn't back yet. John threw the blankets off and sat on the edge of his bed for several seconds. He didn't worry about his mother. Sarah was known for her little renegades without him. She only did so if Cameron stayed behind with him.

_Cameron._

She usually came in the room, sat silently on the end of his bed. She wasn't there.

Still bleary-eyed, John shuffled into Cameron's room. His heart jumped from his chest when he saw her, lying still on the floor. Her eyes were_ closed_.

* * *

Usually, he would call her out. It would be just like Cameron to pretend to sleep, just to try and see what it was like. But her body was sprawled out like she'd collapsed. Like she'd shut down unexpectedly.

He was sitting in the living room, his chair facing the doorway, when Sarah and Derek came home, jubilant.

Sarah's smile died cold on her lips when she saw John's tear stained face. She dropped her bag and rushed to his side. Could she have been wrong? Did something not fit right?

Derek, _too high on his own joy_, ignored them both and drifted to the kitchen to stare at the food in the fridge, marveling that he would never be short on it again.

"What's wrong, John?" Sarah asked, kneeling down next to his sorrow-riddled form.

He shook his head. "She's gone,"

Sarah blinked twice before she realized what he was saying. "Cameron?"

"Yes. She's just—_gone._ Her chip is nothing. Dust."

Sarah remained silent.

John lifted his head to stare at his mother. "You finished it, didn't you? Skynet is gone. For good. That's why _she's_ gone. Something in her hardwire self-destructed when the future disappeared."

John got up suddenly. If John had known saving the future would destroy the cyborg that looked after him, he would have still done it. Without a question.

_Right?_


	8. Terminate John Connor

I wrote this on the outline of improving my dialog a little. I struggle with that sometimes. Anyways, I ended up liking the end result very much, though it is very short. Really, Mike70056, writing is so much easier when you have comments like yours. Thanks!

* * *

"Good morning,"

_Terminate John Connor._

"Hey. Mom making pancakes?"

_Terminate John Connor._

"Yes. They're blueberry this time,"

_Terminate John Connor._

"Thought they smelled different."

_Terminate John Connor._

"You feeling okay, Cam?"

_Terminate John Connor._

"Perfect. I watched the tom cat that has moved into the alley next door."

_Terminate John Connor._

"Pretty nifty,"

_Terminate John Connor._

"You do not approve of me seeing the kitten?"

_Terminate John Connor._

"No. Seeing the cat's fine. It's just kinda creepy, you know?"

_Terminate John Connor._

"No. I do not understand,"

_Terminate John Connor. _

"Thanks, mom. Forget it, Cameron."

_Terminate John Connor._

"But I still do not understand. Will you explain, Sarah?"

_Terminate John Connor._

"Hey, leave me out of this. You two do your own thing,"

_Terminate John Connor._

"I have nothing to do at night. I patrol. The cat wandered in."

_Terminate John Connor._

"It wasn't scared of you?"

_Terminate John Connor. _

"My superior strength undermined whether it was scared of me or not. I observed it."

_Terminate John Connor._

"You didn't hurt it or anything, did you? Cam, you can't just go around 'observing' things! Next time—"

_Terminate John Connor. _

"Talk about this on the way to school. You're going to be late. Go! Hurry,"

_Terminate John Connor._

"Do not worry, John Connor. I did not terminate it."

_Terminate John Connor. _


End file.
